


Stops My Heart

by SinnamonSpider



Series: Stereo Love: Excerpts [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s11e17 Red Meat, Established Relationship, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Explicit, Song Lyrics, Tumblr Prompt, Wincest - Freeform, dying is just par for the course, poster boys for the unnatural order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 21:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonSpider/pseuds/SinnamonSpider
Summary: It's been a rough day, what with both of them dying. The last thing Dean wants is to talk about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My response to the March/April Wincest Writing Challenge on Tumblr. Prompt was hurt!Sam and a screencap from S11E17 "Red Meat". Fic is set after the episode. It morphed into more hurt!bros than Sam specifically, but given the plot of the episode, it was kinda inevitable. Feedback is always welcome.
> 
> Title and lyrics from "Killing Me Too" by Sister Hazel.
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply.

_Give me your lips_   
_And I'll tell you about all the things I missed the most_   
_Open your mind_   
_And I'll crawl right up and sleep inside of it_   
_When was the last time you felt high?_   
_You were the best I ever felt_

They're a disaster.

They've been worse off, both of them. Hell, they've both been in Hell. But those times were always the results of some ground-shaking, world-ending, apocalypse-level shit. Not a simple pack of werewolves and a couple of unlucky humans.

Not their finest hour.

They stumble into the motel room, Dean struggling with the keys, and Sam collapses gingerly, which is a neat trick, onto the nearest bed - Dean's. Dean doesn't argue, just joins him, careful not to jostle Sam; fresh stitches and gunshot wounds and all that. For his own part, Dean feels like death warmed over. The charcoal they'd given him to leech the rest of the barbiturates from his system has left him limp and the emotional trauma of the last 24 hours is wreaking its own havoc.

He lays down next to Sam, and he thinks he's got a hold on it, until ten seconds later when Sam sighs and Dean ain't got a hold on anything. He turns over, curls against his brother, drags him close ever so gently, and prays that his tremors don't give him away.

No such luck. Sam tucks Dean against him - thankfully Dean had the presence of mind to lie down on Sam's right side, avoiding the wound - and rests his head on Dean's hair, nosing into the soft strands. "You lied," Sam accuses gently. Dean snorts in reply. "Prove it."

"I talked to the doc."

"Fuck."

Sam shifts against him and Dean knows he's in for a lecture. "Dean, that was stupid. Billie isn't the sort of force to play around with. Plus, she doesn’t like you."

Dean snorts again. "Sam, seriously. How many times have we been here? You know I'll never let you go without a fight. So I fought. And won, thank you and you're welcome."

Sam is quiet for thirty seconds but Dean knows better than to think he's done. "You didn't really win. She didn't agree to bring me back. I was already back."

Dean suppresses a third snort ‘cause it’s not really the most attractive sound in his repertoire. "Your gratitude overwhelms me."

Sam snorts instead, which makes Dean really glad he didn’t. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful, you ass,” he says. “We just...we keep making the same decisions, Dean. It makes us predictable. Anyone who wants to control us knows they’ve just got to put one of us at Death’s door and the other will be falling all over himself to get him back.”

“We’ve been doing the same thing for ten plus years, man,” Dean counters. “Pretty sure they already know. You’re my weak spot and I’m yours, remember?”

Sam’s face is motionless. Dean remembers that face full of shock as the bullet pierced his skin, twisted with agony as he lay gasping and bleeding on the floor of the cabin, still and silent in death, a sight Dean has seen too many times. He could catalogue his life by Sam’s face, in the same way he could measure his heartbeats by the times Sam says his name.

He drags himself into a sitting position, back against the headboard, and gently tugs Sam across the bedspread, settles Sam’s head in his lap so he can stroke through the stupid long hair. Sam resists for all of ten seconds before sinking into the touch. “You know I can’t promise to stop chasing you beyond the veil, Sam.” His hands falter, just the slightest bit, on their passes through Sam’s hair, and Sam can feel it. He nuzzles his face into Dean’s leg, denim worn smooth against his cheek.  “I’ll never stop trying to bring you back. Never.”

Dean lets his fingers rest on Sam’s neck, feels the pulse beating strong beneath the warm skin. His other hand skates across Sam’s chest, rests over his heart, fingertips brushing the edge of the bandages covering the latest attempt to steal his brother from him. “So you just gotta stop dying.”

Sam’s voice is soft, heavy with sleep. “Deal. S’long as you’re always here to come back to.”

Dean lets his head fall back against the wall, feels his eyes drifting closed. “Always.”


End file.
